


The King's Fall

by Akiko_Natsuko



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Betrayal, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Death, Explosions, Friendship/Love, M/M, Memories, Serious Injuries, Trust, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: 'Jack rose from his desk and moved to the windows that looked out over Zurich. Looking down on what he had helped to build, what he had sworn to protect. He still could. All he had to do was sacrifice his final piece, his queen, and bow his head. Checkmate, in the form of taking a fall for all the lies and poison that had been threaded throughout Overwatch while he was playing the wrong game.All he had to do was fall, and Overwatch would survive.'Jack has other plans, his own terms to offer. He just has to hope that Gabriel is on the same game board.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	The King's Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that if you want to talk to me about my fics and writing, or anime/shows/games in general then you can now find me on discord [The Unholy Trinity](https://discord.gg/jdpcfy6XTB).

Jack Morrison, Strike Commander of Overwatch – for now at least – surveyed his office. Everything was in order, his desk clear of paperwork for the first time in days, weeks…months, each signed and filed neatly, although whether they had anywhere to go remained to be seen. All personal effects had been stripped from the room, not that he’d ever had much. This office had been his prison cell from the moment the job had been forced on him, and he had done as little as possible to claim it on his own. But the photos of happier times, of people he had once called his own, had been stored away. Perhaps one day, someone would stumble over them and ask questions about the man behind the uniform – he snorted, mocking his own thoughts. No one had cared while he was alive, what would they care about a dead man?

The communicator on the desk buzzed, shrill in the silence, deafening even over the pounding of his own heart as he reached for it. _Unknown caller._ His lip curled up – they were still playing games, even at this point. Then again it was all a game, it always had been. Just while he had been playing one version, they’d been playing another, and now they found themselves on the same board, and he wasn’t sure where that left any of them. _One man can only do so much Jack,_ Ana’s voice echoed in the back of his mind. A reminder from a friend? Or a warning from the dead? He didn’t know, no that it mattered, because he knew his answer… _until he dies._

“Morrison,” he answered voice even.

_“Time’s up, it’s time to decide Jack Morrison. Will you accept our terms?”_

Terms. It had always come down to terms. For those fighting in the Crisis, it had been measured in blood and loss, life and death, but for those behind the scenes, it had been numbers. Casualties measured against economics, measured against power. Peace had come out on top at the end. Overwatch, had been more terms – weighing public need and opinion, and the power it generated, against what the other players wanted. Peace won again, but this time to pave the way for war. His job had come down to ‘terms’ – either he took the job, the uniform, he didn’t want, or he would find himself in a less gilded cage, the property of the military that had forged him. A weapon that would be wheeled out again when it was time. He had chosen to accept their terms then, some freedom better than none, hoping that with time, he could stave off the time when he would be a weapon once more. A time when the world would need him to be that again.

He’d failed. He’d been playing on the wrong board.

Ana had died because of it. Gerard too, with Amelie, lost to them and herself. Reinhardt had been forced to retire – more terms, another sacrifice – leave or die, not that Jack had been able to tell him that, even faced with his angry words and the betrayal in his expression. Torbjörn had followed, loyal to the last, and with more reason than others to leave, a life beyond this deadly game. Jack chose to believe he had understood, that he had read between the lines, the words that Jack had said and hadn’t been able to say, but it was a lie to protect himself from what he had chosen. What he had become. _You will regret this Jack,_ the engineer had told him when he left, and Jack had ached to tell him that he already did.

That he was rebuilding himself on a foundation of regret.

The only piece he had left was a wild card. Gabriel Reyes. Once upon a time, Jack would have said that Gabriel was his Queen, now with everything balancing on a knife-edge, he knew that there was every chance the other man could cross the board to the other side.

_“Morrison?”_

Jack rose from his desk and moved to the windows that looked out over Zurich. Looking down on what he had helped to build, what he had sworn to protect. He still could. All he had to do was sacrifice his final piece, his queen, and how his head. Checkmate, in the form of taking a fall for all the lies and poison that had been threaded throughout Overwatch while he was playing the wrong game.

All he had to do was fall, and Overwatch would survive.

Only it wouldn’t.

Overwatch would be overtaken by the poison, corrupted by it, until it represented his dream in nothing but name, and then it and everyone bound to it would be the pieces in the new game. The war rising at the fringes. A weapon that he would have forged, and broken, and re-forged to fit in their hands alone. He watched vehicles and people moving below, wondered how many of them were filled with men and women waiting for his decision, how many agents were already within the walls of his ‘kingdom’. To many probably, and he weighed that and them against the other lives, the men and women who knew nothing about the power struggle going over their heads, and the few – probably only one – who was on his side, or so he hoped, and he straightened.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he replied. Calm and unhesitating. The man who had once led some of the Strike Team’s most suicidal missions during the Crisis, rather than the wavering, collared figurehead of the last few months, his head held high, eyes clear.

Silence.

_“Then Strike Commander, Overwatch falls.”_

The call cut out, beeping loudly and Jack crushed it in his hands before tossing it aside, and moving back towards his desk, shrugging out of the hated blue coat.

“Athena, order everyone to evacuate the base,” he ordered, circling the desk to drape the coat over the back of the chair and pushing the seat back into the place. “Imminent attack,” he added. He didn’t want them caught up in this, but he would not deny them the chance to protect themselves.

“Understood, Strike Commander,” Athena replied, and immediately alarms began to blare throughout the building, automated voices relaying orders to every inch of the base. He closed his eyes for a moment, envisioning the confusion, panic and fear he would just have sowed, before opening them, knowing that they would be coming for him.

“Lockdown all controls, emergency code override ‘Rex Cadit’,” Jack commanded, opening the desk drawer and pulling out his sidearm, checking and rechecking it. Extra ammunition slid into place on his belt, a comforting weight after so long at his desk and as he holstered the weapon, he couldn’t help but feel as though he was home, even as he was about to bring it crashing down around his ears. Next, he retrieved two knives – gifts from Gabriel long ago, after an assassin had got a little too close for comfort, one went in his boot, the other into the sheath under his sleeve, and he was just closing the drawer when Athena replied.

“It has been done, Strike Commander.” There was a pause, and this time when Athena spoke her voice was softer, almost human. “Good luck, Strike Commander.”

It was a farewell.

He bowed his head in the direction of the ceiling, and then headed for the door and the chaos that he had started, hoping that he still had enough time to get down to the Blackwatch Offices. Praying that Gabriel would be waiting for him, and…

_Let’s just hope the Queen hasn’t crossed the board._

****

Gabriel had been bent over mission reports when the first alarm had gone off. _Imminent attack._ He had memorised each alarm pattern long ago, and he was up and moving, retrieving his weapons, eyes flicking to the maps pinned to the far wall. The entire base mapped out – or so it would appear to anyone, not in the know. Gabriel ignored the visible lines, eyes tracing the paths that weren’t marked. The corridors and stairwells that appeared on no schematic, drawing a mental route up to the Strike Commander’s office…a path to Jack. “Athena, where is the Strike Commander?” There was no reply, and he scowled and turned to look at his desk – everything was showing that it was still operating. “Athena?”

“All communications and controls have gone into lockdown,” Athena replied at last.

“Override, voice code: Gabriel Reyes,” he barked. _Imminent? It sounds like they’re already here, and if they’ve got to Athena…_ Both he and Jack had some aces up their sleeves, neither of them entirely comfortable with trusting Athena nor anything that could think for itself after the Omnic Crisis, but if they could get through her defences so quickly then it might not be enough.

“Code denied.” He cursed and spun towards the door. He was going to have to go in blind – something he hated more than anything, but there was no way he could wait any longer. If they’d already got to Athena, then they might have already found their way to Jack. _Jack might already be,_ he cut that thought off. As much as he had wanted to shake the man the last few weeks, to shove him in front of a mirror until he saw what he had become, he wouldn’t let Jack die here, and for that to happen, Jack had to still be alive.

He had almost reached the door when his personal communicator went off, and he snatched it from his belt and flicked it open. “Jack?” There were very few people that had this number, fewer since Genji and McCree had left Blackwatch. There was a pause, and he was braced, half expecting to hear Jack’s death throes as the silence stretched on just long enough for his mind to conjure the worst-case scenarios, the most awful endings for the man he had promised to protect.

 _“I’m afraid not Commander.”_ Gabriel’s eyebrows rose, he didn’t recognise the voice, and yet they knew who he was and how to reach him, even over whatever blackout had been ordered and his gaze shifted to the other wall and the boards stood in front of it. His work. His hunt of the last few months, seeming to mock him, especially as the voice continued, amusement bleeding through. “ _However, it is about former- Strike Commander Jack Morrison that we wanted to talk to you about.”_

“Oh?” Gabriel forced himself to ask. _Where is he? What have you done to him? Former?_ There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but each one would reveal too much, and he had already said too much with that urgent ‘Jack’, and he was kicking himself for that.

_“We wanted to offer you a deal…”_

****

The first one had come for him just as he’d set foot outside his office, materialising through the crush of people trying to evacuate. As he ducked the first volley, feeling one bullet strike the vest he wore, Jack wondered if they had been there poised to walk him to his final betrayal? Or, maybe they had known that he couldn’t fall that far, and had been waiting for this moment? The people around them were scattering, although a few hesitated, looking ready to interfere as they realised who he was, and Jack pushed the questions away. “Move!” He bellowed at them as he lunged forward, wrapping his arm around their throat and using his weight and momentum to force them both to the ground. As they grappled and rolled, feet catching on them as the crowd scattered, he wondered if they regretted being the first to reach him. He didn’t bother asking. Wrapping his arm tighter, a chokehold perfected over long hours on the practice mat with a partner who was a lot more dangerous, the blows that fell on his neck and head, little more than distractions, until the man went limp.

He didn’t waste time checking he was dead, surging back to his feet and taking off. Trying to draw any further attempts away from the fleeing people. These men and women were mostly non-combatants, essential to the running of Overwatch, but no use to him in this current situation. Which was why his office had been set up surrounded by such people, of course, he thought sourly as bullets raked the wall just beside him and he was forced to turn the opposite direction that he had been heading.

Herding him.

He let them, taking a corner at full speed. Making no effort to reach for his gun yet. He still had another trick up his sleeve. _As long as Gabriel hasn’t…_ Jack gritted his teeth against the doubt, but its insidious whisper lingered as he more gunfire erupted in his wake. No, not just in his wake, he realised, and as he slid through the door into the stairwell, he risked a glimpse out of the windows.

War had come to Overwatch…

The grounds that had been active but peaceful not long before were filling with the surging crowd escaping the building, and here or there the crowd bundled, gunfire lighting the sky, several vehicles already alight. He cursed, low and vicious, in every language, he been forced to learn for his farce of a job even as he kept moving. Swinging himself up and over the railing, dropping down a couple of levels, scattering the people using the stairs and roaring at them to move, as more bullets followed his movement. A man stumbled and fell, gripping his arm and Jack finally went for his gun, Ana’s voice in his ear as he twisted, two quick shots upwards taking out the shooter leaning precariously over the railing to get an angle on him. They were wearing an Overwatch uniform he realised, heart, twisting as they fell. Movement caught his attention, and he spun just as the man who had gone down lunged for him, blood on his arm, lips twisted in a snarl… a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and this time Jack was the one to fall, the two of them tumbling down to the next landing, screams and cries and more gunfire filling the air.

Jack grunted as he took an elbow to the temple, shaky it off easily, but there was no relief. His assailant up before him and lunging as Jack was halfway to his feet, steel flashing between clenched fingers. There were sparks and the screech of metal on metal, as Jack brought the gun up to block the attack. It slipped past, gashing across his fingers, blood seeping down and bloodying his hand. He ignored it, moving into the attack, lips pulled back in a snarl as he headbutted the man. The crack of their heads deafening, Jack’s body shaking it off quicker than the man’s did, knife arm slackening, just enough. Jack’s first shot took him through the hand. A bloody gaping wound that sent the knife to the ground. His second was a headshot. The body falling, as Jack scooped up the knife stained with his own blood and shoved through the door onto the corridor.

His hand was burning, and there was a stinging on his cheek. Either the fall had broken skin, or a bullet had come to close. He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t have time to find out as more assailants were coming at him, this time in the distinctive black and red uniforms he recognised from Gabriel’s private briefings with him. That was fine, it was easier to fight them, than men and women wearing the uniform of Overwatch – people he had almost fooled himself into believing in.

He fired first. The first shot missed, the second tore through one man’s shoulder, serious but not enough to take him out of the fight and Jack cursed, before hefting the stolen blade and flinging it at the wounded man. It took him in the other shoulder, just as several bullets slammed into Jack. The vest took them, but the impacts drove the breath out of him and flipped him backwards, a cry torn from his lips, as another shot took part of his right ear. _Not so handsome now Jack,_ Gabriel’s voice mocked in the back of his mind, but he had no time to consider that or mourn the loss as they were on him. Rabid dogs sensing a moment of weakness. They were strong and skilled. Built for the war to come.

Jack had been forged in war.

He rolled with the first attack, lashing out with a kick that shattered a kneecap and sent that man wailing to the ground, just as a blow broke his nose. Fire gripped his face, and he felt the blood start. _Nothing,_ he told himself, feeling his body already working on the damage. It didn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch, especially when he lurched up, headbutting the one who had landed the hit. His vision whited out for a second, and he wrenched himself to the side, guided by the sound of shifting feet, hearing metal striking the ground. He didn’t wait for his vision to clear, spinning himself, waiting for his legs to connect with something and wrapping them around it. A warm body landed on him, and Jack struck like a python, wrapping himself around them. A knife nicked his arm, and his teeth found flesh and bit down. Hard. Skin broke, and he tasted blood and the howl that rose in response. A growl rising in his throat as he clenched his teeth, shaking his head like a terrier with a rat in its jaws. Deeper. Deeper. Blood gushed, and the figure went limp, and Jack blinked back to himself as he lifted his mouth from what he now realised was a man’s neck, grimacing as he spat out a mouthful of blood.

There was a lull. He was still surrounded, but it was as though they were seeing him for the first time. A hesitation seeping into the air that hadn’t been there before, and he used the pause to shove the body of him. Flicking a glance at the savaged neck, before rising to his feet, breathing hard and reaching up to brush a hand across his chin, smearing the blood in a macabre war paint across his face. Lowering his hand, he casually reached for a fresh ammunition clip and reloaded his gun, no one seeming to want to be the one to move on him. “I said ‘no’ to the terms your bosses lay out,” he said conversationally, as he slipped the clip into place, wiping away a smear of blood and replacing it with another before shrugging. “These are my terms.”

He lunged.

****

“I’m listening,” Gabriel replied, after a moment. _Wait for me Jack,_ he thought, eyes straying to the door. Itching to go and find the other man. However, how many times had he drilled it into his men that information was a better weapon than any weapon? Apart from maybe him and Jack. Especially when they were on the backfoot, like he was here, because despite all his unheeded warnings to Jack, he hadn’t expected a full-on brazen attack, and he wondered what could have tipped their hand. _Maybe they will just tell me,_ he thought biting back a snort, as he waited, the line remaining quiet just long enough to make him shift uneasily.

 _“We’re offering you a chance to save Overwatch. To save Blackwatch, and your own skin of course”_ Gabriel scowled, not liking the implications of what would happen if he turned down their offer. _All those lives –_ how many times had he highlighted their vulnerability here on a base filled with civilians and inexperienced soldiers? He could practically see Jack looking at him, telling him that these people, these lives were their responsibility, theirs to protect, even though he was the one to have put them in danger.

“You’re speaking to the wrong man,” he said, letting some of his irritation, the months of his warnings going unheeded bleed into his voice. “Morrison is the one that would care.” A lie, that almost wasn’t a lie. Gabriel had been bracing for this moment, this fall for far too long, and in some part of his mind, he had accepted that he wasn’t going to be able to save everyone. And the list of those he had to save was short these days – _Jack._

_“We already have.”_

“What?” Gabriel knew that he had probably revealed too much, the cracks between him and Jack breaking out into the opening, but the surprise…the hurt… the betrayal at not being told about this cutting even more keenly than a knife and the communicator creaked in protest beneath his tightening grip. _What have you done, Jack?_ He thought, anger bubbling up now. Partners. Friends. Jack had thrown those words at him again and again, derailing him from his doubts and arguments, and yet here he was, on the outside looking in and his voice was a low growl as he demanded. “Under what terms?”

_Don’t make me choose against you, Jack…_


End file.
